


Can't We All Just Get Oolong?

by Llama1412



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Developing Relationship, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Politics, Sex Work, Tea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28822941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: In which Iorveth and Roche discover that Roche's mom Eliza works for both of them, drink lots of tea, and slowly get to know one another.
Relationships: Iorveth & Vernon Roche's Mother, Iorveth/Vernon Roche, Vernon Roche & Vernon Roche's Mother
Comments: 20
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morbid_Hatter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbid_Hatter/gifts).



> Inspired by this [made up fic premise](https://bard-llama.tumblr.com/post/640544323688136704/for-the-made-up-fic-premise-ask-roche-and-iorveth) from useless-empty-brain. It was such a great invention that I had to actually write it! And then it went and turned into a slow burn long fic, because RIP me, I guess.

The nature of politics meant that as much as Eliza would love to ignore the world outside of her business, she couldn’t. Not just because living in the capital meant that any decision the King made could end up impacting her, but also because she was  _ the _ Madam of the Vizima slums. Which didn’t seem like much of a title, but the Temple Quarter (aka the slums) had no shortage of working girls – both those affiliated with brothels and freelancers.

It was the freelancers she always tried to take under her wing. She knew more than anyone how dangerous the job could be, and it was always safer if you had at least  _ one _ person you could go to if you ended up in trouble. Eliza was proud to be that person.

Of course, politics rarely cared about individuals exposed to harm. Politics was about the behavior of nations, not the fates of those living in the nations. Not if they were working girls, anyway. Or boys. Eliza had plenty of both in her employ and she was more than aware that if they started disappearing, no one would care.

Well, not  _ no one.  _

The one good thing she could say about her son’s job was that he had power and the King’s ear. If she ever had to ask him for help, he would bring all of that power and determination down on any who threatened her.

Eliza and Vernon had always been close. They were all each other had in the world, and for many, many years, Eliza had traveled Temeria, trying to put food on the table for her boy. She had sold everything that could be sold, and even so, sometimes there just wasn’t enough to eat.

Nowadays, food wasn’t a concern anymore. But Eliza could remember the hunger that had gnawed on her stomach day in and day out, an ever present ache that drove her determination to keep her son from experiencing it. She had been more successful some times than others, and  _ that _ was how politics entered her home. Because by the time she had reached the capital city of Vizima, her son had been old enough to start earning money himself. 

Sometimes that meant selling his body, for sex or for manual labor or for fist fights – for whatever he could find. But sometimes… 

Eliza had found that it was best not to ask what Vernon was tasked to do for the King. He’d fallen into the King’s service by accident at fifteen and as much as Vernon’s original excitement had expounded on how he would serve as a friend and companion to the Prince and Princess, Eliza knew what use royalty had for people like them.

Even after all these years, Vernon  _ trusted _ Foltest. Even when Prince Foltest became King Foltest and Princess Adda became the Late Princess, Vernon followed Foltest with stars in his eyes. 

It worried Eliza. Because Vernon might adore his King, but Kings didn’t have  _ friends.  _ And they  _ certainly _ didn’t consider poor whoresons their equal. 

But Vernon was happy, and it wasn’t Eliza’s place to critique her son’s work. 

It  _ was _ her place to protect him any way she could, though. That was how her little arrangement with politics started. Because the most valuable thing someone could bring a King was information, and Eliza and her girls (and boys) knew how to gather it. 

They also knew the  _ value _ of it. Which was why Eliza was very, very careful about what information she passed on to her son… and what information she passed on to  _ someone else. _ Because her son’s job might have been to hunt down nonhumans, but Eliza had lived her life in the gutter right alongside elves and dwarves and halflings and she refused to abandon them.

If Vernon ever found out… well, she didn’t really know  _ what _ would happen, but it definitely wouldn’t be good. But she had taught her son to live by his values and she’d be damned if she did any less.

Somehow she’d never seen this situation coming, though.

* * *

“What the  _ fuck,”  _ Vernon swore emphatically, “are  _ you _ doing  _ here!?” _

Eliza bit her lip, ignoring the way it smeared the paint coloring her mouth bright red. Of all the ways her son could find out about her sideline business, this was  _ not _ the one she’d been hoping for.

“What are  _ you  _ doing here!?” sneered the tall elf who also happened to be the commander of the Scoia’tael and therefore her son’s direct enemy. 

Oops?

“I asked first,” Vernon snarled, hands tightening on the hilts of his weapons, and no no, that just wouldn’t do at all.

“Gentlemen,” Eliza cleared her throat loudly, “if you start a fight in my establishment, I will throw you out. Now, if you’re willing to be  _ civil,”  _ she glared pointedly at her son, “let’s sit down for tea, shall we?”

“But–” Vernon started, but when she narrowed her eyes at him, he quailed. “Fine, fucking whatever,” he grumbled.

Much better.

She led the two men through to her private study and set about preparing her best tea set. Because her guests could clearly use some calming tea, not because she needed something to occupy her mind instead of thinking about how Vernon was going to  _ kill her _ for this whole situation.

She’d always known that Vernon would see it as a betrayal, the way that she smuggled information to the Scoia’tael. She  _ never _ shared any information that could put her son at risk, but she was still colluding with his enemy.

It was unlikely Vernon would ever be able to forgive her for that, and Eliza swallowed hard, her hand shaking just slightly as she poured hot water over fragile tea leaves and put a lid on the teapot to let it steep. No more distractions left now.

She took a deep, calming breath, and then carried the tea tray with all the grace and poise that her career had instilled in her. Tea ceremony was an honored art, and at the very least, it would keep her son from making any rash moves, at least until the tea had been consumed. Afterwards…

Well. She would just have to see, wouldn’t she?

She poured a cup for each of them, then sat back against her favorite armchair and aimed a narrow eyed look at her guests. Vernon barely bothered to pick up his cup, too busy glaring daggers at his opposite, who was… oh dear. He was staring at the tea set with a wide eye and flushed cheeks and Eliza couldn’t help the slight smile that pulled at her lips.

“It is exquisite work, isn’t it?” she asked, tapping a long fingernail against the porcelain of the teapot. The extremely phallic shaped teapot, with its incredible detailed spout depicting a human penis. “Don’t worry, it’s all decorative. Though actually, you must let me know what you think of this jasmine blend. If you like it, I can include a few tins.”

“Tins.” Vernon repeated, voice thunderous. “You – you provide  _ tins _ for the  _ Scoia’tael!? _ You’re a  _ supplier!?” _

“Of course not,” Eliza waved her hand casually, as if this wasn’t her son accusing her of treason. “Iorveth’s Scoia’tael are based too far away to make that feasible. But elves have always appreciated tea properly, and good tea should always be shared.”

“Sh –  _ shared!?”  _ Vernon growled. “You have got to be kidding.”

Iorveth finally got over his shock and Eliza watched as he ignored Vernon and slowly grasped the teacup, lifting it to his mouth – and almost choking as he registered that the flowers decorating the cups all featured penises at their center. And testicles, in most cases.

Eliza smiled. There was a reason this was her favorite tea set for guests. Vernon was far too used to her aesthetic sensibilities to be bothered by all the extraneous dicks, but she did so enjoy the awkward embarrassment as seemingly sensible people found themselves entirely scandalized by her design choices.

Glancing at her son, she was startled to see a slight flush on  _ his _ face. He’d stopped blushing over her tableware years ago, so why would he– 

She followed his gaze to the elf, who had taken a careful sip of the tea and closed his eye to savour the taste. The eternal scowl on Iorveth’s face had softened with his closed eye and for a moment, Eliza could see all the grace and beauty elves were legendary for in the curve of his cheek and the cut of his chin.

Her eyes returned to her son’s, and she was 90% certain that he was thinking something similar. 

_ Well,  _ she thought, hiding a grin behind her teacup.  _ Isn’t that interesting? _

“So,” she began, “you two know each other?”

Her son’s response was nothing more than a growl and a disbelieving glare. Iorveth, on the other hand, set his cup in the saucer and nodded primly. “We do.”

“The real question,” Vernon said lowly, “is how  _ you two _ know each other.”

Amusement crossed Iorveth’s face briefly. “There is no world in which you’re entitled to know all the people I associate with.”

“Yes there is!  _ This _ one! Because it’s my fucking job, dammit, and because  _ that,”  _ he pointed emphatically at Eliza, “is my  _ mother,  _ you fucking bastard.”

Iorveth blinked. And blinked again. For the first time in this entire conversation, he actually looked taken aback. “The army’s paperwork never identifies your mother,” he said, dazed.

“And how the fuck do  _ you _ know  _ that!?” _ Vernon snarled, almost rising to his feet until Eliza shot him a quelling look.

“Spies, obviously,” Iorveth answered truthfully, still looking as if the ground underneath him had turned to quicksand. “She – your  _ mother!?”  _ He turned to Eliza with a beseeching glint in his eye and she sighed.

“Vernon,” she began carefully, “you are well aware that my life is not subject to your approval.”

“That doesn’t count for  _ him!”  _

Her smile immediately faded and Vernon tensed, clearly picking up on her seriousness. “Yes, it does. Just as I don’t critique your acquaintances,” she let the word form sharply on her tongue, flinging it at him as an accusation, “you have no right to critique mine.”

Vernon frowned, face dark in a way she had never seen before. She refused to admit that that scared her. “You realize that your life is forfeit,” Vernon said slowly, his voice as cutting as hers had been. “You have sheltered and supplied Temeria’s enemies. That’s  _ treason,  _ Mom.”

Eliza swallowed hard, wondering if this was the moment she lost her son forever. “If it is treason to help those who fight for their very right to live, then so be it. I have lived amongst the dregs of society and I know in my bones that when it comes down to it, who is an elf and who is a human doesn’t  _ matter.” _

“You’re helping terrorists!”

“Freedom fighters,” Iorveth interjected. “As in, we are literally fighting for freedom.  _ That _ is what you’re arguing against.”

“No,” Vernon turned to Iorveth and even though the elf was taller than him, Eliza would swear that he managed to loom threateningly. “What I’m fighting against is  _ terrorism,  _ as in the tactics  _ you _ use to subjugate and murder any humans that come across your path!”

“You want to talk to  _ me _ about subjugation!?” Iorveth’s lips pulled back in a snarl, and Eliza was sure that it was only both men’s respect for her that kept them from launching at each other in this moment.

“Enough!” The room fell silent as a grave at her shout. “You are both my  _ guests _ here, and I expect you to behave. Or I will  _ make _ you.”

Vernon swallowed, not doubting her threat in the slightest. Iorveth, on the other hand, looked startled, but he bowed his head to her slightly.

“My apologies, Madam Eliza,” he said formally, and the approving smile tugging at her lips was entirely involuntary. What a polite young elf. Or, er, old elf? She actually had no idea how old Iorveth was, but elves lived for a very long time.

“Now, if you are willing to talk like  _ civilized  _ people…”

“Fine,” Vernon bit out through gritted teeth. “Why do you even have spies in Vizima? Your forest isn’t anywhere near here!”

Iorveth sent him a look as if he were a very,  _ very _ clueless lab rat. “Vizima is the capital,” the elf spoke slowly. “Policies affecting elves and ‘nonhumans’,” Iorveth curled his fingers into mocking quotes, “are made and enacted  _ here.  _ Why  _ wouldn’t _ I have spies here?”

“In the slums?” Vernon cocked an eyebrow. “In a part of the city that has barely ever seen hide or hair of the royal family?  _ That’s _ where you need a spy?”

Iorveth rolled his eye. “I never said she was my only one.”

“You also never answered my question.  _ Why _ would you need a spy in Vizima’s slums?”

“Where do you think the ‘nonhumans’  _ are!?” _

“In Old Vizima.”

Iorveth snorted. “Old Vizima is hardly even part of the city. The elves and dwarves that make it into the city live  _ here.”  _ ‘Duh’, his tone very clearly said.

“So get one of your elves to spy for you! Not my fucking mother!”

“It’s not as if I  _ knew _ she was your mom!” Iorveth crossed his arms. “And it’s not as if  _ you _ get any say over who my spies are at all!”

“I do when I catch them!” Vernon hissed.

Eliza pinched the bridge of her nose. “So you’ve caught me,” she interrupted, and both of her guests startled as if they’d forgotten her presence. Why was she helping them again? “What now?”

Vernon’s face contorted through emotions too quickly for her to read before he slammed down a mask of blankness that even she couldn’t see through. Fear shivered in her belly and she forced herself to breathe slowly, waiting for her son’s sentence.

“I–” Vernon hesitated, more uncertainty in his tone than she’d have expected. “It’s – can’t you just…  _ not _ spy for the Scoia’tael?”

Iorveth pressed his lips tightly together to keep from saying anything, deferring to her in a way that proved all over again why she’d chosen to work with him in the first place.

“No,” she said firmly, and tried not to feel her heart breaking at the subtle flinch Vernon tried to hide. Her fingers curled into fists to keep from reaching for him, too afraid of the possibility that he might pull away. “I’m not choosing them over you, Vernon.” Her voice was as soft as she could make it, and she hoped he could see the sincerity in her eyes. “You will always be my son and I will always do anything I can to help you. But it would go against every one of my values to turn my back on them.”

Vernon’s jaw trembled with fury and he grit out, “and what do your  _ values _ say about the fact that your treason puts  _ every single person you associate with _ at risk!? Do you know what  _ happens _ to people who are suspected of spying for the Scoia’tael!?”

Iorveth scoffed quietly, but if he was trying to avoid catching Vernon’s attention, he definitely failed. The elf met Vernon’s glare with his own and shaped his words deliberately. “You say that as if  _ you _ aren’t directly responsible for what happens to them.”

“Of course  _ you _ would say that,” Vernon growled, “you’re the one putting them at risk! At least I’m just following orders.”

“‘Just following orders’,” Iorveth mocked. “What, don’t have enough of a backbone to decide on right and wrong for yourself?”

Vernon slammed his hands down on the coffee table, causing teacups to rattle against their saucers. “You call me a coward when you’re hiding behind my mother!?”

Iorveth leaned forward, spitting venom, “I’m not  _ hiding _ behind anything! You want me? Come after me. But don’t lie about what you are. Following orders doesn’t relieve you of responsibility.”

“I’ve never lied about what I am,” Vernon snarled, shifting his feet like he wanted to jump up and accept Iorveth’s challenge. “Instead of running around slaughtering innocents,  _ I _ have someone to answer to! Someone who you  _ know _ you’re asking people to cross when they help you!”

“Doing nothing in the face of evil  _ is _ evil,” Iorveth said stubbornly.

“How  _ dare you–” _

“Enough!” Eliza whistled sharply, forcing both of her guests to cover their ears. “What did I say? You want to fight, take it elsewhere. As long as you are in  _ my house,  _ you will  _ behave!” _

Almost as one, the two men jerked their eyes away from her to stare at the ground, shame and defiance radiating from them. 

“You know, if you ever actually took the time to talk properly, I think you’d find you have a great deal in common.”

_ That _ set the fox amongst the hens, and Vernon squawked in disagreement.

“I have  _ nothing _ in common with  _ him!” _

Eliza let her raised eyebrow speak for itself. 

Vernon looked from her to Iorveth and back again and shook his head, rising to his feet. “Fuck this. You want to risk everyone here?  _ Fine.  _ I’m not part of it.” He stomped to the door, shoulders trembling slightly with rage, and Eliza couldn’t help her flinch when he slammed the door behind him.

She would be having  _ words _ with him later over treating her house like that, she promised herself. Except even she knew that she was only focusing on her irritation at his lack of manners because it was better than wondering if she’d ever see her son again.

Could Vernon ever forgive her for this? She was mostly sure that he wouldn’t turn her in, but… she wasn’t positive. Because like Iorveth had said, she  _ did _ know what her son did to those suspected of helping the Scoia’tael. And he would never understand that that was part of why she  _ had  _ to help them. Foltest may be able to turn her son into a torturer, but she would not let him be responsible for the eradication of an entire species. She  _ wouldn’t.  _ Not just for them, but for Vernon too, because someday – she hoped – he would realize that the world was a lot more complicated than Foltest’s orders implied, and she didn’t want him to have to live with that knowledge. That weight, of knowing that the things he had done were  _ wrong _ and  _ evil _ – she couldn’t spare him all of it, but this, this she could do. 

“I’m sorry,” Iorveth’s quiet voice jerked her back to the present.

She blinked. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Iorveth repeated. “You’ve been invaluable and we’re grateful. And this is my fault.”

Eliza snorted inelegantly. “No, it’s definitely mine. You didn’t even know he was my son.”

Iorveth hummed lowly. “Going against family is never easy.”

“No,” she sighed, staring down at Vernon’s hardly-touched tea, “no it’s not. But how can I teach him to do what is right if I don’t put my money where my mouth is?”

Iorveth bowed his head to her. “That’s why we’re grateful.” He glanced at the door Vernon had vanished through and frowned. “He – he’s really your son?”

The proud smile her son always inspired in her was tinged with sadness. “He is. My loyal boy. Too loyal, sometimes.”

Iorveth’s brow knit. “You don’t approve of Foltest?”

Only years of practice with her son kept the disgust off her face at the King’s name. “No. No I don’t.” Eliza shook her head, “royalty has never been concerned with the likes of me. And it should have stayed that way. If Vernon had never caught Foltest’s attention…”

Well. Things would be different, certainly, but ifs wouldn’t put dinner on the table. It was pointless to wish to change the past, she’d learned that long ago. All she could do was accept the present and hope she could change it.

Iorveth cleared his throat, and when he spoke, his words were more hesitant than she’d ever heard from him. “Not to presume, but if you’re trying to lessen Foltest’s hold on Roche… well,” he shrugged, “that would definitely be of interest to the Scoia’tael.”

Amusement caught Eliza off guard and she grinned ruefully. “You want to help me recruit my son to  _ your  _ side?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Iorveth grumbled, scratching at the back of his neck. “He’s –  _ never _ tell him I said this. But your son is the single greatest threat the Scoia’tael face. Foltest isn’t the only king to go after elves, but no one else has an enforcer as effective as Vernon Roche. No one.”

Eliza blinked in surprise. “He’s that good? I mean, I knew he made a good commander, the way his men talk about him. But…”

“Best I’ve ever seen,” Iorveth answered, pulling a face like the admission physically hurt to acknowledge.

Pride swelled in her chest and she smiled softly, “I should have known. He’s always strived to be the best.” Her heavy sigh left her with a gust and she met Iorveth’s eye. “I’ll think about it, though I’m not sure what help you could offer. Although…” Eliza tapped her long nails against her teeth. “I would enjoy having you over for tea again, if you are able.”

The corner of Iorveth’s mouth twitched. “Your tableware is…  _ unique,  _ but your jasmine is some of the best I’ve had in a while. My men tend to brew their tea  _ far _ too strong.”

“Oh, I know what you mean. Vernon, bless him, does not seem to understand that tea is supposed to taste  _ good.” _

Iorveth chuckled. “Well,  _ I _ certainly won’t turn away a good cup of tea. I’d be honored to come again. And if I can be of any help…”

“I’ll let you know,” Eliza nodded, rising to her feet as Iorveth did so. “Be careful returning to your forest. Don’t get caught.”

Iorveth grinned at her. “I won’t.”

Instead of letting her escort him to the door, he stepped over to her window, opened it, and leaped out. Eliza’s heart caught in her throat as she raced to the window sill to see what had happened, but the street below was empty, and if the elf had made it to the roof, there was nothing to clue her in.

She huffed, closing the window and slowly collecting her guests’ tea cups. Whatever might happen next with her son, he had listened, even if only for a while. If that was the power of tea, maybe she should invite enemies to sit down with her more often.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roche struggles to deal with his mother's _associations_.

Roche knew it was going to be a bad day when he walked into his office – which, in Vizima, meant the King’s Study, where he had been generously provided with a desk next to Foltest’s – to see an invitation on heavy cardstock sitting on his desk.

_ You are cordially invited to a tea party _ .

He sighed heavily and flipped the card open to see his mother’s own curly handwriting.

_ Stop avoiding me, Vernon. At least come for tea. _

Huffing loudly, he crumpled the card in his hand, still furious over  _ everything _ about the last fucking time he’d had tea. No, he wouldn’t be going back for more.

“That do something to offend you?” Foltest’s amused rumble made him jump, and he whirled around to see his King grinning at him.

“Having an argument with my mom,” Roche shrugged, trying not to feel guilty about boiling  _ treason _ and  _ colluding with the enemy _ down to ‘an argument’. He couldn’t think about that around his King, he just couldn’t. Because maybe he was furious and hurt and outraged, but he wasn’t going to hurt his  _ mom.  _

_ Even if Foltest orders it? _ whispered a voice in the back of his head that sounded a little too much like Iorveth. 

He shook his head, shoving that thought aside. Foltest  _ wouldn’t.  _ Foltest understood family. He wouldn’t order Roche after his own mother.

But treason was treason, and that didn’t mean he wouldn’t order  _ someone else. _

Roche swallowed hard, pushing down all thoughts even remotely related to his mother. Later. He could think about it later, when he wasn’t standing right next to his King.

Foltest clapped his shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll get it figured out.”

“Yeah,” he tried to smile, then cleared his throat. “So… anything you need me to do?”

Foltest’s grin was shark-like and predatory. “Come now, Vernon, you know I always have  _ something  _ for you to do.” Using the grip on his shoulder, Foltest led him over to the King’s desk and began to explain his plan.

* * *

On the bright side, his assignment would take Roche away from Vizima and his mother. On the not-so-bright-side, he was only returning to Ellander for about a week to brief his men and leave command in Ves’s hands so that he could go  _ back _ to Vizima to deal with his King’s problem. 

Still, distance was distance, and Roche had learned long ago that distance was key during fights with his mother. She was absolutely  _ not _ above sending friends and workers after him to annoy him into talking to her again.

He really should’ve expected that distance wouldn’t change that. Not this time.

The Blue Stripes had learned of a planned Scoia’tael ambush on a trade caravan and planned their  _ own _ ambush. The moment the Scoia’tael revealed themselves, Roche signaled his men and charged at Iorveth.

Iorveth turned at the last minute and easily blocked his sword in a way that made his blood boil.

“Well, well, look who it is,” Iorveth sneered.

“Iorveth,” Roche growled, slashing his sword at the elf’s side.

Iorveth dodged easily and beckoned him closer. This time, when Roche lunged, Iorveth blocked it and managed to stab an elbow into his nose.

“Motherfucker,” he swore and rose to his feet, meeting Iorveth blade for blade.

“Speaking of,” Iorveth murmured lowly, staring at him over their crossed swords, “just talk to your mother, would you? She keeps complaining to  _ me _ about you avoiding her.”

Roche sputtered. “You did  _ not _ just bring her up where someone could hear you,” he hissed.

Iorveth ignored him. “I don’t care what you do, but leave me out of it.”

“You’re the one who inserted yourself  _ into _ things in the first place!”

“I didn’t know!”

“Like I give a fuck,” Roche snarled. “If you weren’t here, this wouldn’t be an issue in the first place!”

Iorveth turned his stagger into a dodge, but Roche had seen the way the words hit like an attack in and of themselves. “I won’t apologize for surviving,” Iorveth swore. His voice had a note of darkness in it that, despite all that he’d done, Roche had never heard from him before.

Roche swallowed. And jabbed his sword at Iorveth’s leg, because this was still a fight dammit, and if he could just  _ win,  _ he could remove the cause of his mother’s treason altogether.

His fingers flexed around the hilt of his weapon and told himself that the sinking feeling in his gut was only because his mother would never forgive him if he killed Iorveth. It’s not like he would  _ care _ if Iorveth died, after all. 

Iorveth flipped out of the way of his blade and leapt into the trees. With hands curled around his mouth, Iorveth let out a birdcall that Roche knew meant retreat.

He let them go, gripping his weapon so tight that when he finally let go, the leather of his grip had imprinted itself on his palm.

* * *

Standing around the corner from his mother’s brothel, Roche tried to talk himself into action. Being here didn’t mean he forgave her for her treason. He was just here because it had habitually become his first stop whenever he returned to Vizima – after the King, of course. It was only polite to let her know that he was back, after all. Chewing on his lip, Roche took a deep breath and crossed the street.

Beatrice was manning the books when he entered the brothel, which usually meant Mom was on break and drinking tea. Which meant he wouldn’t be getting out of this visit without a whole conversation. Shit.

Still, when Beatrice waved him up the stairs, Roche forced his feet to move forward. If his mom wanted to see him badly enough to send  _ Iorveth _ to tell him to come back, then the least he could do was hear her out, right?

Outside her door, he took one final breath and then twisted the doorknob. His mother was inside with her tea set displayed on the table, as expected, but her  _ guest _ most certainly was not.

“What the fuck!?” He gaped at the unperturbed form of the elf he’d last seen in Ellander. “Are you fucking following me or some shit?”

“Of course not,” Iorveth scoffed. “I have spies for that.”

Roche sputtered, gesticulating wildly with speechless fury.

“Vernon,” Eliza called sternly. 

Right. No fights in her house. 

He sucked in a breath through gritted teeth and forced himself to walk forward and take the unoccupied seat to his mother’s left.

“Now,” Eliza said, satisfaction clear in her voice, “I’m glad you came. It’s been  _ far _ too long.” The rebuke in her words was undermined by the way she reached over and squeezed his hand before serving him tea. “How was your trip?”

He glared at Iorveth. “Fine.”

“Okay. How long will you be staying in Vizima?”

“Ah,” Roche hesitated. Should he reveal this in front of Iorveth? Though, in fairness, it wasn’t as if a spy couldn’t figure it out easily enough. “I’ll be here for a while, actually. New mission.”

Iorveth’s eyebrow jumped high in interest and Roche very pointedly did not say any more.

“That’s wonderful!” Eliza said, real delight in her voice that soothed some of the bristles on his heart. “You know, Iorveth just told me that he’d be in Vizima more often, too!”

Iorveth sent her an alarmed look that made Roche pretty sure he’d said so such thing, but to Roche’s surprise, Iorveth swallowed back his irritation and nodded. “Which won’t help your men in Ellander.”

Roche scoffed, “my team is still more than a match for your elves, even without me there.”

Eliza cleared her throat pointedly, and they both fell silent. 

“So,” she drawled, “since you’ll both be around for a while, we’ll have to meet for tea more often.”

He groaned, smacking his palm against his face. “Mom. I literally work with the King.  _ That,”  _ he pointed at Iorveth, “is one of the most wanted people in the entire north. Even his presence here is  _ literal treason,”  _ Roche enunciated the words carefully, because there was clearly something she was not getting about it. 

“It’s important to me,” Eliza said softly.

Gods dammit. That just wasn’t  _ fair,  _ not when he was still pissed as all hell and  _ entirely in the right _ with his concerns. This was treason. If he did this, he was betraying Foltest. 

But it was  _ Mom… _

_ It’s not as if Iorveth is killing innocents while he’s here drinking tea with Mom,  _ that little voice that sounded too much like Iorveth for comfort whispered. And it was right – if anything, while with Eliza, Iorveth’s nonviolence was assured. Which meant maybe staying for tea was a  _ good  _ idea. After all, then he could keep an eye on Iorveth.

He could even, it occurred to him, use this as an opportunity to gather information. Iorveth wasn’t stupid, the elf would still be careful about what he said. But intel was intel, and last time, he’d learned –  _ too _ much, honestly.

“Fine,” he grunted, forcing himself to uncurl his fist and pick up the teacup. “Thank you for the tea.”

Eliza smiled brightly. “That’s my boy. Now, why don’t we all get to know each other, hmm?”

_ Deep breaths,  _ he told himself. He could deal with her if he just remembered to breathe. “You realize,” he said after counting to ten three times, “that there are things we  _ can’t _ say because reality exists outside of your  _ fucking brothel.” _

Iorveth winced at the look Mom turned on Roche and pity from his enemy was absolutely  _ unacceptable.  _

He would prove that he could play nice, dammit, he  _ would. _

“So,” he bit out, “Iorveth… where are you from?”

Iorveth snorted. “What, your intelligence doesn’t have that?”

Eliza cleared her throat pointedly again and Iorveth looked up at the ceiling as though praying for patience. Roche could relate.

“I’ve traveled all over the continent,” Iorveth said, “but I’m  _ from _ here.”

Roche blinked. Wait… what? “Not like…  _ here _ here.”

Iorveth gave him a sardonic look. “Whose ruins do you think Vizima and Ellander are built on top of?”

But… but hadn’t all of those elves been killed? “How are you alive?”

Face cold, the elf turned to gaze at the floor. “I’ve survived more pogroms than centuries I’ve been alive.”

“Ah.” He had absolutely no idea what to say in response, even after Mom looked at him meaningfully. “Um. Sorry?”

“Are you?” Iorveth challenged, still not looking at any of them. “Each one was carried out by men  _ just following orders. _ What makes you different?”

Roche couldn’t stop his flinch at the dig, and he swallowed hard, searching for an answer. In the end, all he could offer was the truth. “I’m not.” 

If he were ordered to… 

He squeezed his forefinger and thumb together tightly, focusing on that pressure. Foltest wouldn’t order him to do something like that. He  _ wouldn’t.  _ After all, the elves that Roche hunted were outlaws, hurting innocent people. 

That made a difference. Didn’t it?

“Vernon!” His mother scolded, “don’t say things like that! Of course you’re different. Why, Iorveth, have I ever told you about the time Vernon saved my life? He was just a boy, you know, only seven years old! We hadn’t made it to Vizima just yet and the small town we were in, our  _ employer,”  _ she said the word with such scorn that Roche had to hold back a preemptive flinch, even though he knew where this story was going. “He was such a shitbag. He’d take such a large cut of our take that we could barely live, but if we complained – well. But my little hero here,” she reached out and knocked off his chaperon to ruffle his hair.

“Mom!” He slapped her hands away and pulled his chaperon back on properly. If Iorveth’s lips twitched in amusement at their antics, he pointedly did not notice.

“He found a stickball bat and the next time our employer came after us when we demanded a bigger share, my little boy stood in front of all of us and threatened the asshole to give us the money we’d earned and walk away, or he’d make it so dickwad could never walk again.”

Iorveth raised an eyebrow, reluctantly impressed. “At seven? Even for humans, that’s pretty young, isn’t it?”

Eliza nodded solemnly. “My little hero saved us all. And we finally had enough that we could travel to the next town.  _ All _ of us.”

The corner of Roche’s mouth ticked up without him realizing. His mother had been emphatic on that point. If the others stayed, they would just be right back in the same boat. Really, it was no wonder Mom had gone on to become a Madam. Even on the road, she’d always been the one to organize her colleagues to demand better treatment.

He tilted his head towards the door. “Fyfa came with us all the way here.” Even after all these years, she still worked with Mom. And these days,  _ they  _ got to call the shots. 

“That’s an elven name,” Iorveth said quietly.

“Yeah, so?” Roche scowled at his enemy. “You got a problem with an elf choosing to work pleasuring humans?” It wouldn’t be the first time. As much as Eliza had to protect her workers from proselytizing priests of the Eternal Fire, the occasional elf who disparaged working at a brothel servicing humans was almost more of a threat. They were more likely to get violent, anyway. At least the priests were cowardly enough to move along as soon as Roche or one of Eliza’s bouncers loomed over them.

The elves had  _ righteousness _ on their side. Roche had seen plenty how that drove elves like Iorveth to extreme actions.

“What?” Iorveth blinked at him. “No, I’m just surprised you’d willingly associate with an elf.”

“What, because I hunt you, I must automatically be racist?”

Iorveth tilted his head back and forth, “yeah, pretty much.”

Roche scoffed loudly. “Is that how you justify it? If you kill us, you’re  _ obviously _ just killing another racist, huh? Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Believe it or not,” Iorveth’s voice was dry as dust, “I don’t  _ want _ dh’oine to be awful to my people. But I’ve had enough experience to know what to expect.”

“You didn’t answer,” he narrowed his eyes, challenging Iorveth with everything he had.  _ “Is _ that how you justify it? You lie to yourself until you believe that you truly are just fighting for freedom. The innocents you kill are just – what? Collateral damage?”

“Only as much as the ones you kill are, I suspect.” Iorveth’s words cut, but almost worse was the way the elf so easily maintained his cool demeanor when Roche was about ready to burst a blood vessel holding back the words he wanted to shout.

“Boys,” Eliza said sharply, tapping her spoon against her cup with a ceramic  _ ting  _ that echoed in the air. “That’s enough.” She met each of their gazes sternly, then pointedly cleared her throat. “We were talking about origins. You know, it’s interesting that you’re a local, Iorveth. We’re actually not, though Vernon claims otherwise sometimes.”

“Such as on army paperwork?” Iorveth’s eyebrow arched high. “I admit, I assumed you were Vizima natives.”

“How do  _ you _ know what’s on my paperwork!?”

Iorveth gave him a  _ look.  _ “How do you think? You spy on us, we spy on you, such is the way of the world.”

Roche grumbled, opening his mouth to retort, but Eliza loudly cut him off. 

“Yes, it can feel like we’re locals, certainly, but as I always tell Vernon, roots are important. You never know what knowledge you might need.”

He sighed loudly, “Mom, no one outside of Velen believes in the Ladies.” Was he imagining the way Iorveth’s ear twitched at that? “And anyway, all the legends agree that the Ladies have no power outside of Velen, so it’s hardly relevant.”

“That doesn’t mean you’ll never need to know,” Eliza said firmly. “So,” she turned to Iorveth, “what was Vizima like when you were young? It’s changed so much just in the years we’ve been here, I can’t imagine…”

“Uh,” Iorveth looked uncertain, “well, it was…” he licked his lips and started over, “I was born in the forest. My forest,” he clarified, as if Roche had assumed it was another one. “Actually, in what you now call the Temple of Melitele.”

Roche blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“Mm,” Iorveth hummed. “It was a medical school then. I don’t recall the name, but it was likely something for Navé, our fertility goddess.”

Roche tilted his head. He… hadn’t actually realized that Melitele was a human goddess. Huh.

“We moved to what’s now Vizima later,” Iorveth continued, “but it was… elves worship beauty. Our architecture was grand and symmetrical. We built incredible castles and towering spires and – well. I’m sure you’ve seen the ruins.”

“Why’d you move?”

“My family. My parents – uh, actually, I think that word is more specific to humans. Um, the people who raised me? My mom, my aunts, my uncles – they got jobs in the city. Why’d  _ you _ move?”

Roche determinedly kept his mouth shut, but Eliza answered easily, “my work. There just wasn’t enough to live on in the little village where Vernon was born. Once he was old enough to travel, I started heading to Vizima. But of course, it took us years to get here…”

Iorveth licked his lips, hesitating for a split second that made Roche wonder. Then he said, “you mentioned the Ladies of Velen. I’ve – I’ve heard of them, but…” He cut himself off, biting his lower lip hard, and Roche found his eyes fixed on that.

“Just spit it out already,” he demanded.

Iorveth glared at him, but continued, “all the elven tales of the Ladies of the Wood are warnings. They are ancient creatures with unknown powers, and the rules that bind their lives work differently than for the Elder races. Or for humans.”

Roche rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, we know. They can’t lie, but that doesn’t mean they tell the truth either. Thanks ever so for your concern.”

Eliza kicked his ankle sharply for his sarcasm, but Iorveth actually looked amused. “Do you believe, then?” the elf asked.

He shrugged. “Dunno. Never been desperate enough to seek their favor. Why do you care?”

Iorveth tilted his head. “I’ve lived a long time. Longer than humans have been on the continent. But creatures like the Crones are older still. No one knows  _ how _ old.”

“So?”

Iorveth tapped his fingers, looking at Roche with a narrow gaze. “My forest is teaming with monsters. There are… forces, let’s say, that can protect my people if given the proper tribute. But that magic comes from the forest itself, not from creatures interpreting it.”

Roche blinked. “Wait, what forces? The forest is just… a forest. Isn’t it?”

“Hmph,” Iorveth huffed, turning his gaze onto his tea. “Of course you’d think that. But then, humans have never been able to feel nature as we have.”

Frowning, Roche tried to make sense of that. “What do you mean,  _ feel _ nature?”

To his surprise, Eliza was the one to answer. “Oh really Vernon, don’t you remember what Fyfa taught you about plants when you were young? Elves can feel the life in plants, can feel their basic needs and help them grow.”

He blinked. Actually, all he really remembered about plants growing up was the way he was entirely incapable of keeping any of them alive. 

Iorveth nodded. “It’s similar to the stone sense dwarves have. We are connected to the element that we came from. Dwarves came from the mountains, but we came from trees.”

“Like… literally?”

Now Iorveth shrugged. “Possibly. Our creation myths say as much, although there are also some tales about sailing across the sea on white ships.” He trailed off, tapping his fingers against the teacup. “Do humans have creation myths? I know how you came to the continent, but you were from a whole different world before that.”

“We were? I mean, yeah, of course we were. The whole Conjunction of the Spheres thing.” Roche tried to think about if he had ever heard a human creation myth, but honestly, nothing came to mind. “If we have stories, I have no idea what they are.”

They both turned to Eliza, but she just pursed her lips and shook her head. “I’m not sure. There are stories about the fires of the old world, but I only know that because the Church of the Eternal Fire talks about them. They say that their fire was carried from the burning remnants of our old world, and that its light led us here or something.”

Roche made a face. His mother had always told him to have a healthy respect for anyone who devotes their life to their beliefs, but there was something about the Church of the Eternal Fire that had always rubbed him the wrong way. 

Or, more accurately, the  _ priests  _ of the Eternal Fire had always rubbed him the wrong way. Every one he’d ever met had always had  _ strong _ opinions on selling ones body for sex, as if selling it for manual labor was any different. And they’d always  _ looked _ at him, full of pity and scorn and something else he could never identify. Because he was a poor whoreson and his lot in life had already been determined, according to them. He was never going to be one of the ones they ‘saved’.

In retrospect, that was probably for the best. After all, one of Roche’s commandos  _ had _ been someone they’d tried to ‘save’. Fenn still had nightmares, but he also still  _ believed,  _ in a way that worried Roche sometimes. 

He shook his head, pushing away those thoughts. In honesty, he wasn’t really sure what  _ he _ believed in, beyond Temeria. Which was probably a good thing, considering the things he’d done in her name. 

A cleared throat abruptly brought Roche back to the present and he sipped his tea to cover his moment of inattention.

“So,” Iorveth said, “I’m guessing you don’t know what your world was like before you came here, then.”

“Curious about humanity’s origins?” Roche arched a brow dubiously.

“Yes,” Iorveth said bluntly. “They say your origins say a lot about you. I’m curious what humanity’s says, given… literally everything.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Iorveth huffed lightly. “Rude.”

“Oh, I’ll show you rude,” Roche leaned forward in his chair.

“Boys!” Eliza snapped. “Please don’t make me kick you out.”

“Actually,” he decided, “it’s about time I should go. Been on the road all day.”

The disappointment on Mom’s face made him feel both guilty and pleased, so he ignored the feeling, shoving it down and rising to his feet. 

“Enjoy your treasonous tea,” he said and walked out the door, forcing himself not to glance back at Iorveth. Because he was worried about exposing his back, obviously. What other reason could there be?


End file.
